Virtus
by NellieRai
Summary: "Everything comes back in flashes. Terrifying and grizzly flashes of skin, blood, sickening sounds of screaming and the smell of burning flesh. Castle. Her heads snaps up, she fights off the pain, pushes it to the back of her mind because her partner is here somewhere."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not owning Castle is my specialty.**

 **A/N: Let me explain a bit about this fic: It was an assignment for my Literary Technique class. The assignment was suspense and exercising skills in skipping the main event to retell it later through dialogue or character thoughts. I couldn't post it until the class ended and now it has. So you get this fic as a Valentine's Day gift.**

 **Set in late season 4**

* * *

There's something dripping in the distance. An incessant sound that pulls her into reality. Her eyes blink open as it gets louder.

 _Drip._ She blinks again against the darkness. _Drip._ Her heart hammers in her chest. _Drip_. She can barely see.

Her lips are chapped, aching. When she tries to move her arms, a sharp cry escapes her lungs. Pain lances through her shoulders and straight down her spine to settle heavy in her pelvis. The ache spreads to her hips, her knees. Her head joins the symphony with a rushing throb. Her stomach rolls its violent protest of the situation with the tang of blood on her tongue.

Everything comes back in flashes. Terrifying and grizzly flashes of skin, blood, sickening sounds of screaming and the smell of burning flesh.

Castle. Her heads snaps up, she fights off the pain, pushes it to the back of her mind because her partner is here somewhere. It's him she sees when she closes her eyes. His face contorted in agony as a knife slices through his skin. Oh god, her stomach churns when she thinks of the blood he's lost. Her brain floods with what-if scenarios and she can feel the sob well in her throat, a knot forming that she tries to swallow back down. She can't go there. She can't think of the blood or his shallow breathing. She can't think of his family or how she's failed him. She can't do it. She has to be smart. She has to get them out of here.

"Castle?" She can't see him, even turning her head does nothing but give her a sickening sense of dread. He's nowhere to be seen. She squints, tries to make out shapes outside the dim halo of light surrounding her on the slim chance that he's in that darkness. "Rick?"

If he's there, he's incapable of answering. Another wave of nausea rolls through her stomach. Maybe he just doesn't want to answer. She did this. She got them into this mess because she wanted her partner back and now he's hurt...or worse.

Not worse. Can't be. Her head drops, too heavy for her to hold up and she feels the pain resonate in the back of her skull. She doesn't have time for this. She has to find him and get the hell out of here. She wiggles her fingers, rotates her wrists and feels the plastic cut into her already raw skin. If she can just get her hands free...

But she can't. She's tried for hours. She's struggled to get free every single time Castle has screamed and she's still here. Her legs are immobile, her body aches from head to toe, and she can't use her hands.

 _Use your head, Kate. Come on._

She can't die here. She won't let him die here either. This isn't how it ends. She can't let it end with him parading flight attendants around her crime scene or pretending it doesn't hurt to see him working with someone else. It's not over.

They have to be missed by now. She doesn't know how long it's been but it feels like at least six hours. Maybe more. She can't get her thoughts together. Her head just hurts. She really needs to use the restroom and her stomach lurches.

 _Come on. Come on. Snap out of it.  
_  
Castle. Right, she needs to find him. She doesn't remember him being moved. She doesn't remember...the room she's in. It's new. Different. Even squinting in the dark, she can tell it isn't the same. He wasn't moved, she was.

 _No. No, no, no._ Those sick bastards were not serious. They weren't. They couldn't have been.

But she's somewhere different. Even if this is a trap of another kind, she's separated from her partner. She has no idea what they're doing to him but she can recall very clearly what they already did to him.

Every sound he made echoes in her head. Every protest she yelled until her throat was raw is on repeat. How is she going to get them both to safety now? Beckett pushes the toes of her shoes against the muddy floor. Tipping the chair she's bound to will do nothing but she can make out a table in the middle of the room, beneath a single dim light bulb. If she can get to it maybe there's hope.

Her ribs scream in protest when she jerks forward to scoot the chair, she ignores them. Biting at the inside of her cheek, she powers through. Because she remembers the words said. She remembers the rules.

 _"Tell ya what, if you can keep your mouth shut then I'll let your little cop girlfriend go."_

 _"No. Castle, don't. Don't listen to him."_

But he listened. He kept his lips pressed tight and she heard every harsh breath, every whine and groan as electricity coursed through his veins. She'd been forced to watch him convulse and that wasn't the worst of what they'd done to him.

Her forehead aches from head butting their second captor in an attempt to get to Castle. And her jaw is throbbing from failing. She doesn't remember anything after that moment. Just the ultimatum he was given. Have they really let her go? Does it count considering she's stuck to a chair? Or has she simply been moved so Castle believes they honored their word?

It takes her longer than it should to get to the table and she worries they'll come if they hear the chair dragging across the concrete floor. No one comes. She hears nothing but the drip, drip, drip and the echo of Castle in her head. She can see a little better under the light and her blood runs cold.

Her badge, her gun, and the shattered mess that used to be her phone are all sitting right in front of her.

It's a game. It has to be. They wouldn't let her go.

* * *

Her wrists bleed steadily now but she's free. Her knuckles are skinned and stinging, her ribs are on fire. Her hip locks and makes her stumble every few steps. She keeps her gun ready, her heart thumps wildly, but every corner she rounds or room she comes to, she's alone.

She takes the stairs when she finds them. Her head is foggy, her vision blurs but she makes it to the exit. She has to get to a phone, call for backup.

She has to find him. She needs to figure out exactly where she is before she can do that. But there's another snag in her plan, another throb in her head.

The door is wired, a thin barely visible copper wire that she almost misses. Now she understands. It was too easy. She was never meant to make it out alive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Not owning Castle is my specialty.**

 **A/N: Wow! The response to the last chapter was amazing. For those who said I deserved a good grade, this was graded last week and I got an A+ so apparently the professor agreed.**

* * *

He's been in and out of consciousness, hearing bits and pieces of conversations between his captors. He's heard enough to know Beckett is gone. They let her go and that's all that matters to him.

When his eyes open again, it's dark. He doesn't know how much time has lapsed since the last time he blinked. Time is relative, running together. Every inch of his body throbs, aches, _burns_. There's a chill settling in his bones, his teeth chatter. He thinks. He doesn't know. His body sags as he goes under once more.

He jerks awake, Beckett's words fresh in his mind.

 _"Don't do this, Castle. Rick, please!"_

No. No, she's not here. She's safe now. His lashes flutter, his thoughts spin. He loves her. He tried…tried not to. Didn't work. Nothing worked. Loves her. He just wants to stop hurting. Everything is hurting. A pain so intense, he can't keep his eyes from slipping closed.

The loud crack pulls him back. The sound registers first; the fire in his jaw comes later. The hatred in his gut is nothing new when he sees the man who brought him here, the one who dug a knife into his skin, carved away with a smile on his face - a deranged psychopath who liked Beckett a little too much.

She's safe now. She's going to come for him. Even if it's too late, she'll come. Partners. He forgot they were partners. He doesn't regret his decision to take her punishment; he just wishes her voice would leave him in peace. He wants her to stop pleading with him. He doesn't want to hear the grunt of pain she let out when a boot met her ribs. He wants to stop seeing her face bruised and her lip bloody.

Because she's safe. She has to be.

"Safe?" It's garbled, barely a word.

"Your little girlfriend isn't here anymore." Castle doesn't like the smile or the shared laugh between the two men. It isn't until that moment that he realizes his mistake. He separated them.

He doesn't know when. What time is it? How long has he been out?

"Wha -" The words won't come, his tongue is heavy, swollen. His vision fades in and out. He blinks to try and stay awake. "What did you…do to her?"

"Nothing much. But about right now, the bitch is burning. Should have thought that through, tough guy."

He tastes the blood in his mouth, feels the agony in every muscle and he still tries. He tries to lunge.

"Easy, tiger." The tip of a knife presses to his neck. He barely feels the bite of it, the ache in his chest, and the fire in his bones hurts more. He can barely keep his head up. "You'll join her soon."

His eyes roll back and he hears nothing else.

* * *

"Espo, I'm going in."

"You shouldn't even be here, you're supposed to be in the hospital."

"I'm going in." She levels him with a look, one daring him to fight her but he's smart. He knows when to back down.

She checked herself out, showed up at the precinct to help. To demand answers and push them until they knew where Castle was. She's battered but she isn't incapable of donning a vest and finding her partner.

Her head is clear now. She's focused. She can do this. She promised herself and she promised him. She isn't the first through the door; she hangs back because she knows she's not at her best.

Physically, she's pushing it by being here. Mentally, she's pushing it by letting her eyes sweep back and forth through the hallways looking for a sign of life - a sign of Castle.

Her ribs ache, her body aches. Her heart…

He needs to be here.

He needs to be alive.

He needs to forgive her.

She needs him.

At the stairs they branch off in different directions. She follows Espo down. The smell hits first and she knows they're in the right place. She remembers it. A heavy musk that settled deep in her lungs and made it hard to breathe.

But it's quiet. She doesn't hear anything. No shuffling of feet, no cackling, no talking. They were talkers.

There's a single door at the bottom of the stairs and somehow she knows before Esposito ever opens it that Castle is on the other side.

She isn't prepared for the sight of him.

The room is empty around him. He isn't moving. The bindings are gone. All the tools, the knives, the various instruments those men had used…everything is gone. She's the first to hit her knees, to check for a pulse and breathe out a choked sob when she finds one.

"Castle." Her palm settles on his cheek, her thumb rubbing against a patch of angry red. His breathing is shallow. Medics are right outside, she knows they'll be here in moments but now would be better.

He's pale - what skin isn't bruised is ashen in color. He's not answering, not opening his eyes. She speaks his name again and waits. Her gaze searching for some sign that he knows she's come for him. There's nothing.

"Rick, come on!" She needs to say something to him. She needs him awake. She needs him to be okay. "Cas…"

"Mmph." His brow furrows, his eyes fight to open and she feels her heart leap into her throat. "B-beckett?"

"Right here. M'right here." He tries to reach up and that's when she sees his hand. Swollen and mottled. _What the hell did they do to you?_ "You're gonna be okay."

"Safe…you." He's unconscious again before she can figure out what he's trying to say.

He wakes in the ambulance when she's clinging to his uninjured hand and he mumbles her name, asks if she's safe. Now she understands. Barely conscious and he wants to know if _she's_ okay.

"Yeah, yeah I'm safe. Thanks to my partner." Beckett lifts his hand to her mouth, presses her lips to the palm. _Too close. Way too close._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.**

 **A/N: Hey guys, here's another chapter for this little fic. I had actually planned to post them a day apart but my birthday was Thursday and lots of festivities caused delays. I'm still counting this as my birthday weekend so here's the 3rd chapter as a present to all of you and here's to being 25.**

* * *

Beckett doesn't get to see him that first night. By the time he's out of surgery, it's past visiting hours and Alexis and Martha are the first to see him. She stands out of the way; she waits in the designated area. She sleeps - what little she can - in a position that has her ribs burning and she deals with the pain lancing through her just so she can be there for him bright and early.

It's not really bright yet when she finds her way into his hospital room but the sky is lightening up just enough to outline him in gray. Or maybe he's just that pale. Her hip pops when she takes the first step toward the bed, she grits her teeth and takes another. The limp isn't permanent but it's still a nuisance. The throb will probably fade without any lasting pain but Castle…he isn't as lucky.

His hand…crushed. It's heavily bandaged. Her eyes linger on it as she steps up next to him. He's sleeping, breathing softly and she drops into the chair knowing Alexis or Martha pulled it next to the bed and they're probably on their way back from the cafeteria. She doubts they went far but she wants just a few moments alone.

 _You want more than a few._

She does. The voice in the back of her mind is right. She wants more than stolen glances and accidental touches. She wants more than the hesitance she feels reaching for his bandage-free hand. Her lips part when his tighten and his name rolls off her tongue.

"Castle," she whispers and then huffs out a laugh, wincing as the cut on her lip pulls. "Why am I whispering…"

It hits her when she leans closer and has to breathe in heavily, she should be in a bed right next to him. Between the discomfort her ribs cause with each small move and the twinge of her hip reminding her of the escape, she knows she should at least be at home taking it easy. Yet, she can't bring herself to leave him.

Instead, her fingers slide over the back of his hand, curl under to give a squeeze. He squeezes back and she watches as his eyes struggle to open. Only one completes the task, the other too swollen and her chest tightens. She didn't leave him by choice but she still left him there alone. She doesn't know what they did to him.

And so much like their partnership, she doesn't know how to fix this.

"Hey, Castle." Her thumb stokes over his knuckle, just as softly as she speaks.

"Hey."

"Nice shiner. Makes you look rugged." The smile they share is weak and she bites the inside of her cheek when he exhales slowly.

"You okay?"

"I'm not the one wearing the hospital gown. I'm fine." Except for the ribs, the bandaged wrists and the aches from various parts of her body. The bruising on her cheek is also a reminder of what they went through and most likely the reason he's staring. "But you -"

"Already got the rundown. I'll be fine too."

It's a lie. One she sees right through because she just told the same one. She got out and he didn't. He was tortured and she was supposed to be blown to pieces. Now they're here and she doesn't even know what to say to him.

"Castle, I watched them take turns hurting you and I couldn't do anything to help."

"You found me." His lips tug upward and something calms in his gaze. Something that's been brewing for weeks. "They told me you would burn, I remember that part."

He's leaving things out and she doesn't know if he doesn't actually remember or if he's heavily medicated and just confused. By the way he swallows and the twitch of his hand beneath hers, she'll bet he remembers more than he's admitted to anyone.

"Almost did. The building was rigged to blow, every exit point but they forgot the ventilation shaft." The ache in her hip flares as if she needs a reminder of the crawling, the wrong turns, the desperation to get out and the drop she endured to be free.

Her name leaves his lips the same time his leaves hers and this time her smile is genuine when she nods at him to go ahead. He grows quiet instead, his mouth closes and he looks down at their hands - at her hand still clinging to his. If his face wasn't a swollen red and purple mess, she's pretty sure he would be frowning.

"Kate," he murmurs and pauses. He's the writer with the words but for once she steals them. She interrupts because she lied, she lied and she can't be polite and let him go first this time.

"I need to talk and I think you should listen." She just wants him to listen and she wants him back. She wants her partner when he heals. "I didn't know if we would find you in time and I need to say this before I…before I talk myself out of it."

She pulls her hand away from his to wipe her palms against her thighs as she ducks her head and tries to calm her racing heart and nervous stomach.

"You okay?" he asks once more and she feels the tug in her chest.

"You've asked three times and I should be the one asking you. I'm okay, Castle but I have to be honest…my therapist is in for it." She holds her breath as the words echo in her head and for a moment she wonders if she really said them aloud. But then he's shifting in the bed, wincing in pain and she knows she did. "I've been trying to move past that day, trying to accept everything that happened."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. I lied to you and I think maybe you suspected." She looks at him, really looks and waits for the fallout. It doesn't come.

"I know." That's when she realizes that it already has and her stomach twists. She waited, she waited and he's been tortured for days. This is the wrong time to be having serious conversations.

She reaches for his hand again and this time he turns his until their palms kiss.

"I'll stay until Alexis and Martha get back. We can continue this once you're out of here?"

He could say no. They haven't been on the greatest of terms. She won't be surprised if he doesn't want to talk. Then again, he's always one to surprise her and the brief nod he gives loosens the knots in her stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters.**

 **A/N: This took a lot longer than expected to post. Life is funny that way. Hope you guys enjoy. Just one more chapter after this one and then an epilogue. :)**

* * *

Castle picks at the IV, his fingers tugging at the tape holding it in place. He just wants the nurse to remove it so he can finish getting dressed. He wants a shirt on and buttoned, he wants to be one step closer to normal.

It itches and when it isn't itching then it's stinging. Sometimes it's more of a burn or throb at the puncture site. He's listed every pain he feels and at least five adjectives for each. He would keep going, map out an entire wheel of words to describe every ache but that does nothing for the nightmares he's trying to keep at bay. It does nothing but make him moody and then Alexis looks at him as if she's the one in pain and he can't do that to her.

So he's been cheery today when there are visitors in the room. He's joked with the doctor, the nurses, and then they leave. They leave and he's back in that room with a knife carving into him. He closes his eyes and he can still see Beckett strapped down, struggling to get to him while he struggled to get to her. If that's not some twisted symbolism of their partnership, he doesn't know what is.

He closes his eyes anyway; he can't keep staring at the wall and wishing the stitches wouldn't pull with every little move. There's no way he will ever admit to how long he struggled to put his own pants on or the help he had to have. He's doing better with each day, it's been a week. Beckett's been here too. She visits but doesn't stay long and she hasn't so much as touched him since the first time he woke to her voice.

Today is…

"I hear you're busting out." She's leaning in the doorway when he pries his eyes open. "You look good."

He doesn't; she does. She looks better than him, she's dressed at least. The swelling in his face has lessened but the rainbow of color that mottles his skin still remains. Just seeing Beckett standing there with a soft smile reminds him of a boot slamming into her ribs and the sound she made.

"Ready to be home." _Ready for it to be over._ If anyone understands, he knows she does. She's the only one who hasn't asked him multiple times if he's okay. She's the only one who was there. He wants to question her on what she remembers; he wants to know if she sees their faces too but he bites his tongue. It's a conversation for a time when they're guaranteed to be alone.

They slip into a silence that's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. He watches her drop her gaze to the floor, push her hair behind her ear. It makes the fading bruise on her cheek more prominent and his stomach churns. Part of him hopes she doesn't remember as much as he does and the other part knows she remembers every second she was conscious.

He has questions for her, questions about their time apart and questions about the talk they're supposed to have once he makes it home. His heart rate kicks up a notch when she finally steps into the room.

"I, uh - is it okay if I stop by later? I'll bring you a burger."

"Yeah…yeah." It's awkward now. He's nodding and he doesn't know why she seems hesitant. He's not entirely sure if agreeing so quickly was such a great idea either.

"Okay."

"Okay," he murmurs back as she beams at his response. In the brightness of her smile and the small spark of light he sees in her eyes, he begins to wonder if maybe things will work themselves out. "A burger does sound good."

"Hospital food not cutting it?" Her smile dims but clings to the corners of her lips.

"They have some tasty ice cream." He's missed this. He's missed being with her and not feeling the acidic burn of betrayal eating away at his insides. "The rest of the menu leaves a lot to be desired."

When her eyes trail down over his chest and he hears the stutter of her breath, he suddenly remembers his shirt is only half on. Just one arm through the sleeve because he's still strung up like a marionette and it leaves the bandages visible. He's vulnerable for that brief moment until she tears her eyes away and offers a weak smile. He understands her hesitance now, she was there when most of his wounds were inflicted just like he had a front row seat to her shoulder being dislocated and popped back into place. Her yell still echoes in his dreams.

If he sees the fear in her eyes and the pain etched into her features every time she winces when she moves that arm, what does she see looking at bandages that cover an angry jagged line of stitches? Does her mind take her back to that room, does she see it happening all over again?

"Kate,"

"Tonight. We can talk tonight, Castle." The slump of her shoulders, the restlessness of her hands as she picks at lint that doesn't exist, everything about her posture begs him to wait. So he does. "Around six sound okay? If you need more time to settle in…"

"No, that sounds great." He wants to hear what she has to say and he has questions he wants her to answer even if it means she has to see him struggle to sit up for extended periods of time.

For the first time since he woke to find her sitting next to him, he feels her fingers brush against his. He watches as she threads them through his own, he squeezes when their palms press together. Her cheeks are pink when he glances back up and he feels his heart thump hard against his ribs.

"I'm sorry, Castle."

"I-"

"For lying." The words cause his chest to tighten, an ache forms and he wants to ask for the answers now. He wants to know why but then she's stepping closer, her legs bump against his knees and it all stops.

She dips before he can open his mouth, before words can make it from his thoughts to form on his tongue. He doesn't call her out on the wince, he's too thunderstruck by the press of her mouth to his cheek. The warmth of her breath against his skin and the soft lips lingering there, have his mind fogging over. Her name tumbles out on a sigh as she pulls away and he's in no shape to reach after her.

He grips her hand a little tighter until she's smiling and tugging to free her fingers from his grasp. He doesn't know what's going on exactly or why she's stepping over lines she drew in the sand. She's leaping over them in a single bound, a wobbly awkward bound that leaves her shy and quiet.

But it's _something_. It feels like something. A calm in his mind, a soothing lullaby amongst the nightmares, a flickering candle in a sea of black and most importantly, a clear sign that maybe they both messed this thing up but it isn't broken beyond repair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters.**

 **A/N: So sorry about the wait on this one guys. There are probably typos somewhere in this...I wrote it late at night running on very little sleep. Point them out kindly and I'll fix them. This is technically the final chapter but there will be an epilogue to tie things up. Enjoy.**

* * *

Beckett isn't known for being a coward but she feels like one more often than not. In the aspects she can't control, she buries her head in the sand or runs away. She ran from life after being shot…not just life. She ran from the one constant, the one thing - man - who has been there and now she's trying to make up for it. She's been trying for almost a year. There's a possibility she's tried harder lately. She's split her time between visiting Castle at the hospital and hounding the boys for answers, digging around to find her own when she's supposed to be on leave.

And now she's pacing outside Castle's door with a bag from Remy's, questioning if she should knock or go home. This feels different. The conversations they've had since everything happened have been pleasant. The joking is back, the way he looks at her as if she's something special…everything is slowly returning to normal but this is different. She made it different with a press of her mouth to his cheek and a promise of an overdue conversation.

She's here to talk, to admit she has big scary feelings for him but being in his home while doing so seems too intimate. The thought of it has her heart pounding against her still aching ribs and she raises a hand to her side to soothe the twinge. How often does she need to remind herself she's here for intimate? She's here because she wants this.

It takes her another two minutes of pep talk before she finally plants her feet firmly outside his door and raises a fist to knock. She survived a bullet to the chest and torture, watching him be tortured. She can knock on a damn door. She doesn't know what she expects…she's not sure the sound of her knuckles rapping is even loud enough to gain anyone's attention.

When the door creaks open, she holds her breath. She's at a loss for words when it isn't Castle she's staring at but his mother instead.

"Martha, hi." She thought his family would be angry, upset with her and everything that's been happening but his mother welcomes her into the loft with open arms. Ushering her inside with a warm smile.

"Richard is in his room, he's been an absolute bear since we've been home. You can go on in."

"Oh, uh…alright. Thank you." It makes sense. He's still a lot worse off than she is, his injuries were and are more serious. Of course he needs to still be in bed. Of course he isn't able to answer the door and she should have thought this through.

But she didn't think about it when she told him she'd come by. She didn't think of his mother and daughter lingering in the loft. She thought they could talk…she just didn't know it would be in his bedroom with his family right outside. There's a twist in her gut, something telling her to run, telling her this is too much and too fast.

Beckett pushes it down and quietly heads toward his room, her cheeks hot and her nerves kicking. She lingers in the doorway, feeling like an intruder and knocking just to gain his attention.

He's frowning, sitting upright amongst a mountain of pillows on the left side of the bed but his brow is pinched until he turns to face her.

"Beckett, hey."

"Hey. Martha said I could just…"

"Yeah, yeah, come on in." It doesn't get less awkward when she steps inside his bedroom. It's not even the first time she's seen it but she kissed him - on the cheek - and she's in his bedroom. "You can…"

He's struggling with it too. Pointing to the chair in the corner and then the empty side of the bed as if he doesn't know which would be appropriate and she finds herself huffing out a laugh because why is it so awkward? She knows his feelings, she knows what she's here for. And they're both floundering.

"Thanks, for letting me come by." Somehow she ends up in the chair, their food still in the bag but placed in the floor. Forgotten for the moment.

"Kate,"

"I want you." It isn't what she planned to say. It isn't the eloquent speech. It's bold and blurted out, makes her ears burn and her stomach flip. "That didn't come out right…"

"It didn't?" He's smirking, joking when she's trying to open up but it's what they need. The familiarity of this teasing, it calms her down. The tension eases and she smiles at him, shaking her head.

"After I was shot, I ran from everything. Castle, I was a mess. I'm still not where I want to be," she murmurs, reaching up to push her hair back. "You told me you l-loved me and I wasn't ready for that. I had a hole in my chest…someone trying to kill me, a nowhere relationship."

"Love. Not past tense." It still shocks her, to hear it, to see his eyes and know he means it. How did they even end up here?

A place where he's admitting he still loves her and she's gaping at him from a chair in his bedroom because this isn't part of her plan. It feels wrong, forced. This isn't how she wants to remember this moment. The chair wasn't the right choice and she abandons it without a second thought.

Moving forward means dealing with the big scary feelings. It means taking the small steps to him, the empty space by his hip calling to her until she gives in and eases down onto the mattress. His eyes make her brave, the warmth in them…after being cold and empty.

Beckett reaches for his face, hesitating just a moment to see if he'll stop her. He doesn't. He waits her out until she's brushing her fingertips over the healing bruises on his face and his eyes slam shut.

"Sorry." She doesn't pull her hand away but she eases up, ghosts her fingers over his jawline, feeling the scratch of scruff against her palm.

"Didn't hurt me…just feels nice." _Oh._ Oh. She knows. She feels the same way. How the smallest touch is a shock after being beaten, left bloody and bruised. Or maybe it's just _her_. Maybe his eyes are opening slowly, blue swirling with something that has her sucking in a breath, because of her…because she's here. "Did they find the men who -"

"No. No, trail's cold. I promise you, I will find who did this to us." He raises his uninjured hand and her heart skips in her chest, beating wildly, when he twines and loops the strands of her hair around his fingers.

She wants to kiss him again, bites her lip to restrain herself for just a big longer. Not on the cheek this time and she knows from the soft nod he gives, the way he tries to smile despite the trail going cold that he wants it too. But she came to talk, to get her feelings out in the open. She leaves her palm against his skin, sliding it to down to rest against his neck, to swipe her thumb over the ear she's tugged a few times.

"When you were being tortured, when you stayed quiet so they would let me go, to save me…all I could think about was how we lost the chance to be something because they would kill you or me or both of us. I don't want to lose that chance, Castle, I just want you." As soon as it's out, as soon the words leave her lips, she closes the distance between them. Pausing to nudge his nose with hers, giving him time to say something if he wants.

He tugs her closer, presses his mouth against hers. Lips soft and warm but the kiss is firm, solid. Maybe a little angry when she opens to him, heated with the swipe of his tongue and his fingers drifting from her hair down her collarbone, over the slope of her breast.

And then he's groaning against her…whispering an "ow" in pain and she's reminded why this isn't the time to get handsy for either of them. Beckett jerks back, her hands leaving him, apologies spilling from kiss swollen lips until he's shushing her.

"S'fine."

"You're supposed to be resting, maybe I should go..."

"You brought food, stay for lunch."

She stays with him through lunch. She stays when he takes a pain pill and asks her about her pain and she brushes it off like she's all better. She stays when he starts drifting in and out of it because he asks. She stays when he finally nods off and somehow finds herself curled up next to him with a book she swiped from one of his shelves.

He mumbles her name, twitches in his drug induced rest. Whimpering occasionally and she feels her heart tug. She's not sure how to help him through this when she's had nightmares for a week straight and skips sleep just to avoid them. But she reaches for his hand, links her fingers through his.

"I'm here," she whispers as she scoots herself closer, abandoning the book to watch him for a moment. She stays. She's not going anywhere.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Not at all mine.**

 **A/N: This is it. This is the end. I fell in love with this little version of them and it was very hard to type an end that I thought was fitting because I'm picky and because I just didn't want to say goodbye to this fic. Here's the very last installment of Virtus and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 ** _Epilogue  
_** _6 months later_

* * *

He wakes to the press of warm fingers against the lines of knotted skin crisscrossing his abdomen. It isn't rare. It's become a common occurrence when she wakes before him. When she's seeking comfort or trying to give it. He tries to clear the fog of sleep from his mind, open his eyes enough to see why she's smoothing her thumb over the cruelest scar.

Sometimes she needs him, she needs to be held and reassured and shown that they're fine but sometimes he's the one who needs the warmth of her arms, her body. He needs Kate Beckett so much it terrifies him. He blinks slowly and is met by darkness, a silver sheen over bare skin - Beckett's bare skin that happens to be pressed against his own.

 _No complaints so far._

Until he sees her eyes…the shine in them when she reaches for the lamp. It's not a middle of the night lovemaking session she's waking him for, it's something else. The pale gold of the light floods the room, illuminates and casts shadows but he isn't tearing his gaze away from her.

The blanket covering her falls away and he lets himself indulge in her skin, in the feel of it beneath his fingertips as he strokes a hand up her ribs to soothe, to settle against the side of her breast as she sits up. She's warm, her heart thudding steady beneath his palm.

"What's wrong?"

"You were whimpering." She lifts a finger to trace the line of his jaw as he frowns, struggling to recall anything but the bliss black of sleep. "Bad dream?"

"I don't remember." It isn't a lie. Not even a small fib but he's not sure she believes him. The thin line her lips press into makes him ache to kiss them until they're full and red.

Their relationship is something explosive, pure heat and raw feelings, the strongest he's ever been part of. He had no idea who she was in a relationship. He knew her as Beckett, he knew her as a woman, a friend, a brave soul. He knew her to be frustrating. He's seen a lot more now. Not always good for him, not always good for her. They've been through therapy, through accepting what happened and the months it took to gain a lead.

They've dealt with all of it. The nightmares, the yelling at each other in frustration and the ache of relief on the night they spent in his bathtub, calming one another after they caught the men who almost killed them both.

But in the light of the lamp, she's calm. In their relationship she's been steady, unwavering even on the bad days. She's a lighthouse. What seems a ridiculous comparison fits this version of her. Waking him because she thought he was having a nightmare, she thought he was lost at sea, beckoning him to the safety of the shoreline with the soft stroke of her fingers.

Words are rare in the soft moments, in the space they occupy between the blanket and the mattress, in the crease marks of the pillow and the light layer of sweat between their bodies. They've always had a lack of communication but now it isn't hurt feelings and misunderstandings. It's knowing when to use touch and when to speak without vocalizing anything. He can look at her now, see the questions she isn't asking in the depths of her eyes, the clench of her jaw and answer every one of them by moving the hand against her breast and pressing the palm to the back of her neck.

She becomes pliant, stretching out against him instead of remaining half upright and worried about him. Her cheek is warm against his shoulder, her breath tickles his neck, her fingers dance up the ladder of his ribcage, tripping over scars, lingering just long enough to let him know she's thinking about it.

Castle hugs her tighter, finds himself thinking of it too for just a brief second before focusing on the present. It claws at him sometimes, from the inside. There are days he can't think of anything but being restrained, of having blades and pokers puncturing his skin. For every bad day, for every moment it haunts him…there are amazing ones with Beckett.

That's when it hits him, while lying with her and feeling her toes press to the top of his foot and drag playfully back and forth, her lips puckering against his neck. It's after midnight. Today marks six months of their relationship. He tugs at the ends of her hair to get her attention, smoothing a line down her spine and remembering in vivid detail the reason they're both bare.

"Six months."

"What?" she asks with a nudge of her nose to his chin.

"Six months with you."

"I know…we _celebrated_." The husk of her tone, the bedroom voice, the way she dips her hand beneath the blanket, enjoying herself and smiling up at him.

"I recall quite well. I hope we have many more months…years. You're it for me, Kate."

"Wha-"

"We've made it through the unimaginable, made it through the unknown…"

"Castle,"

"I think we can make it through anything when we're together. Which brings me to something I've been wanting to ask you…"

"Oh god, are you - are you proposing right now? We're naked."

"Well, you did say women want intimate." Despite the smile he's wearing, his heart races at the thought of proposals and the panic in her tone. Because he isn't proposing…he didn't know it sounded remotely like a proposal but the way she tugs on his ear makes him rethink the words he's trying to spit out. "No…not yet."

"Yet?"

"I want to officially ask you to move in with me." Her stuff has migrated slowly, little things, clothes. Closet space belongs to her, she has things littered over the counter in the bathroom, makeup and lotions. She's part of his home and he wants it to be hers too.

She doesn't say anything, not a word. But he doesn't need them. The slow spread of a smile starts with a twitch of her lips and by the time she's beaming at him, he already knows. Even when she knocks her forehead against his jaw and tells him he technically didn't ask a question, he knows it's an agreement.

He won't tell her about the ring hidden in the top of closet or that he's had it for two months, waiting for the perfect moment. Right now, he's just happy with her whisper of his name and the press of her body against his. They have time.


End file.
